After dating for as long as I've been dating (15 years) I find it tempting to mentally create the perfect partner, to pine for a person who is the sum of all the qualities I can cherry-pick from previous partners. "Eventually, someone will show up that is as kind as _________ and as sexually adventurous as ____________ and as emotionally demonstrative as ___________ and as handsome as ____________ and as interested in spirituality as _______________" etc. etc. etc. and really? It doesn't work that way. Well, I truly hope it doesn't.
This post is sponsored by a very interesting conversation I had with S today over breakfast at Square Cafe*. She and I were having a long and deep conversation about romantic relationships, and she commented about how confident I am about what I deserve and who I want to be with romantically. My off-the-cuff response was that I learned to have high expectations of relationships after living with J...and I couldn't believe I said it, out loud, and that it was true...just as true as all the muck I had to wallow through to get out the other side of the long, dark tunnel of pain that was also our relationship.
Of course, there were many things that were non-optimal about the relationship...but there were good things, too. As with anyone, there were broken things and not-so-broken things and amazing, shiny things. To ignore any of it would be to not experience the full, bittersweet picture. In many ways, I will probably never have as good a partner as J...and in many ways, other partners will far surpass him. He is human, after all, just like me. I (like everyone else) am a piece of cake, a pie in the face, and all the stages in between.
I like my relationships this way. I like complex flavors, the depth created by some darkness, the moon peeking out from behind constantly moving clouds. To use a food metaphor: I find milk chocolate cloying; instead, I prefer the bitter of a good piece of dark chocolate. The taste encourages me stop and think; it gives me pause. I don't gobble it up right away because I want to taste all the nuances.
I think I would be bored to death if I found exactly what I was looking for in any area of my life. I also suspect that my sometimes-desire to find this Frankenstein Monster of Perfection is based in my fear that I won't be able to negotiate the choppy waters of Not Exactly What I Want. In truth, I'm pretty good at determining what differences I can tolerate, but I fear that I will end up somehow compromising on things that really matter, living in the dark tunnel instead of sometimes traveling through it, carrying out valuable lessons learned.
When I let go of that fear, I can see how exciting the unknown is, and how exciting each unknown person can be. What will I learn? What depth will be added to my character from our interactions? How will I be changed?
That last one is a biggie. Allowing myself to be changed...not just by another person, but by the living of life...that's sometimes hard. Who am I kidding, that's most-of-the-time hard. I have a sneaking suspicion that all of this fear is rooted in my denial of impermanence, specifically the impermanence of me, of this construction I call Self, of this shifting dance of I and me and mine. She changes everything She touches, and everything She touches changes...and that, to me, translates to groundlessness.
Scary? Exhilarating? Both?
Sweet Fancy Moses. Now there's the Work.
*Having said all of this, I think this post wasn't only prompted by my breakfast conversation but also by this post. It moved me to tears when I first read it, and has been on my mind for the past few days.
